heroes always get remembered
by therealjainasolo
Summary: Renée thought she had escaped her past when she moved to Paris: the Musketeers were her family and they never abandoned their own. Then D'Artagnan shows up and throws their world for a loop. It only gets worse from there. Eventual Grimaud/OC, mentions of Athos/OC
1. friends and enemies pt 1

_Paris, 1630._

Light burned against her closed eyelids, thrusting her into consciousness. The woman groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes in a vain attempt to block it out. It was pointless, she knew, as she would never get back to sleep now. An aggravated sigh escaped her as she forced her eyes open, wincing against the headache brewing after last night's drinking and stretched out her arms. Well, she had no one to blame for that but _herself_ …

Her left arm came into contact with something far too warm and firm to be the wall. She froze. _Not again_. She jerked into sitting position, hands quickly skimming over her body and an audible sigh of relief escaping her as she realised she was still fully clothed. _So just the drinking then_ , she concluded, eyes roving over the room and taking in the numerous empty bottles scattered over the floor. _Thank God for that_.

The woman gently eased herself off of the bed, thankful for the fact that they had not entangled themselves in each other in their sleep as they had done before. She resisted the urge to groan at the ache in her muscles, casting an anxious look back at the man beside her. Dark scruffy hair framed his face and she had to resist the urge to brush it out of his eyes. She shook her head. No. This was _not_ that kind of relationship.

The floorboard creaked as she put weight on her feet and she cringed but, thankfully, he remained asleep. Or at least, he remained _feigning_ sleep. She had yet to figure out when he was faking or not and, frankly, she didn't wish to know; she shouldn't have been sleeping with him in the _first_ place, innocently or not. Regardless, if he _was_ feigning sleep, she was grateful for it as she busied herself collecting her things and made her way to the door. It made things less awkward that way.

The innkeeper had left a bucket of water in the open window and she looked longingly at it for a second but concluded that he would need it far more than she did. The hazy memories of the night before told her he had drunk far more than she. His demons always seemed worse than hers.

She cast one look back at him as she swung the door open, sighing softly. How had they come to this?

…Well, it _was_ amazing what happened when two damaged people came into contact with each other and a lot of alcohol. The woman shook her head wryly and left the room, leaving Athos to slumber on.

* * *

Lady Renée of Poitiers made her way unsteadily back to the Garrison. Leaving the inn had not been her most dignified moment but the innkeeper knew who she was enough to know to keep his mouth shut. She had paid him generously many years ago and he, in return, would never dream to refuse her service. Granted, she hadn't done this in a few months, but he remembered enough that he knew what to do. He even went so far as to ignore the fact that she had not slept in the room she had paid for and had left wearing yesterday's clothes. Regardless, she doubted that piece of information wouldn't make its way back to the Cardinal at some point or another. He did so _love_ to stick his hideous nose into her business.

Renée rolled her neck and shoulders as she made her way down the streets of Paris, feeling the aftereffects of a night of drinking even more heavily now. One would think she would be an expert at it by now, though, she mused dryly. A coin purse jangled on her belt, attached to which was also a rapier and set of keys, and she dug into it for some change to buy some bread and fruit from some vendors she passed. She would do this most mornings and hand out the food to the needy in the streets. She adored the King very much so but could never deny the poverty that plagued France, not when she lived in the centre of it all. Part of her intended to at least eat an apple to settle her upset stomach but, at the sight of the impoverished children huddled under an awning, she sighed and pressed it all into their hands. They needed it more than her.

Plus, there would be food at the Garrison. And a bucket of ice-cold water.

When she entered the training yard it was virtually empty save from the stable boy tending to the horses as he did early every morning. Renée threw him a wave, to which he replied without questioning where she had been, and she made her way up the stairs to her room which was attached to those of the Captain.

Sadly, whilst it was too early for the men to be awake and moving, the Captain had always been an early riser. It was his stern look that she met as she tried to creep into the room, as he sat at his desk across from the doorway, as though he had been expecting her.

She halted abruptly.

"Good morning, Renée," Treville greeted coolly.

"Treville," Renée swallowed, smiling nervously at him. Her hands ran over her skirts as her eyes shifted over the room, unable to meet his sharp gaze.

"You didn't sleep in your bed last night," the Captain stated.

Renée looked down. "No." Her voice was small. She felt as though she was being scolded by her father. Which she practically was.

Treville stood up and walked towards her, hand on the hilt of his rapier. "I thought we'd agreed that you'd stop doing this?" He sounded almost disappointed in her, and that only made part of her want to shrivel up.

"I know," her green eyes met his blue ones and she sighed. "I tried. Really, I did."

"Then what happened? You were doing so well." He had halted a few feet away from her.

"I don't know," she admitted, fiddling with the sleeve of her blouse. "A relapse. Memories… I don't know."

Treville sighed. After a few seconds, he nodded, knowing that she wouldn't share any more with him until she was ready. "Get yourself cleaned up."

She nodded, making her way to her room where he had very generously left a bucket for her. Renée smiled gratefully and made to close the door when he turned and asked,

"Will Athos be back soon?"

Renée swallowed loudly. "Possibly." She licked her lips, knowing that she needed to clarify what had happened between them. "We just drank. That's all. I _promise_."

Treville looked at her searchingly but eventually nodded. "Okay."

She didn't know if he believed her or not.

* * *

A few hours later found Renée back in a tavern but this time she was watching amusedly as Porthos played against one of the Red Guards. They were a slimy bunch and she so loved to watch the smug grins get knocked off their faces. She leaned against a table, observing the match, and chuckled as Porthos lay out his cards with a victorious laugh, clapping his hands and leaning back on his stool. He threw her a wink as they both revelled in the look of horror that had come across Dujon's face.

"That's…that's impossible," Dujon stated. "You cheated." He lay his pistol on the table, causing Renée to jolt off of the table she was leaning on and towards him.

"Now, there's no need for that," she chided, irritation clear in her voice.

Porthos seemed unbothered by the situation, which only seemed to be helped by the sudden appearance of a figure bedecked in Musketeer leathers and hat.

"What's going on?" Athos coolly asked, sauntering past to the table in front of which Renée stood, arms now crossed over her chest.

"Ah, Dujon and I were having a discussion about personal integrity," Porthos explained, a threat clearly evident in his voice.

"Your _friend_ had the King up his sleeve," Dujon retorted, gun pointed at Porthos' face.

Renée threw Athos an exasperated look, hand coming up to rub at her temples. Her other hand rested on the hilt of her rapier but Dujon didn't seem to have noticed.

"Oh, that's slander," Porthos' voice had taken on a dangerous tone and Renée knew what was coming. "Tell him, Athos, Renée."

Athos removed his hat. "Don't involve me in this." Porthos looked at her.

"Me either," Renée sighed at the warning look Athos had given her, turning to the table he was at and leaning sideways against it.

Dujon was on his feet now, gun squarely pointed at an unimpressed looking Porthos.

"Shoot him and it's murder," Athos pointed out calmly, still not turning to them.

"One less Musketeer, who cares?" Dujon hissed.

Renée snorted. "A Red Guard _would_ say that wouldn't he?" She smiled sweetly at the enraged man. "It's just a game of cards: nothing to get so worked up about."

Dujon started towards her in his fury but was stopped but Athos' measured voice. "There's only one way to resolve this. A duel between gentlemen, supervised according to the strict code of honour." He had fully turned to the other men and walked off to stand behind the still seated Porthos.

Renée raised an eyebrow but turned to lean back in her original position against the table. This would be fun.

"Fine," Dujon conceded, his focus back on the men now. Renée could have rolled her eyes at the way Athos had diverted the man's ire away from her, as she did so _itch_ to hit a Red Guard, but now found herself distracted by something that had the potential to be just as entertaining.

"In a fair fight, I'm a match for anyone."

Renée sincerely doubted that, and shared as much with the amused glance she shot at Athos who was now leaning against a pillar. Regardless, Dujon's pistol came down and Porthos stood.

"Confidence," he grinned. "I like that in a man."

"Still," Dujon mused, "why fight fair when you might lose?" He kicked over the chair holding Porthos' weapons and drew his own sword. Porthos looked almost bored by the act but started to circle Dujon with the grace of an experienced fighter. The Red Guard lunged at him but Porthos countered the act early by ducking out of the way of the sword. They continued this way for a few moments, Dujon attacking and Porthos dodging the blows with expert precision. The two had come close to where Renée was standing so she made her way agilely over to where Athos stood, ducking out of the way of Dujon's sword and nimbly dodging his legs.

"Attacking an unarmed opponent defies every principle of chivalry," Athos called.

Renée snorted. "I hardly think Dujon cares about chivalry." But it seemed the man did, at least a little, as he cast a slightly hesitant look back at them. It was enough time for Porthos to pick up a fork.

He held it up to Athos and Renée, eyebrows quirking. They exchanged a look and Renée shrugged. "I think that can be considered a weapon."

Athos seemed in agreement. "Close enough." The three smiled and Porthos turned to his opponent with a hearty chuckle.

Dujon was confused. "Uh?"

"En garde," Porthos whispered mockingly, lunging forwards.

The ensuing brawl was somewhat amusing: the tiny fork compared to the rapier should have had a clear winner. Regardless, Porthos was nothing if not an excellent fighter and pushed the increasingly frustrated Dujon towards to other two. Athos, taking a swig from a cup and returning his hat to its place on his head, gestured at Renée to do the honours. She picked up a tankard and smacked it against the unsuspecting Dujon's head, knocking the man out cold.

"Nicely done," Athos complimented her quietly. She nodded.

"What happened to the code?" Porthos asked, slightly out of breath, looking at the two of them in confusion.

"Oh!" Athos sighed, looking at Renée.

"Who has time?" she answered flippantly. "And, technically," she held up a finger, "I'm not a Musketeer, so _I_ don't have to abide by it."

She pulled a face as if to say 'what can you do?' to which Porthos only rolled his eyes fondly.

"Treville wants to see us," Athos cut in, walking around the unconscious form of Dujon towards the door. Renée stiffened slightly but neither man appeared to notice. Porthos made his way to the table and began to pocket his winnings.

Renée shot out a hand to grab the man's wrist and turned it over to reveal the cards hidden up his sleeve. She raised an eyebrow, "Porthos?"

He groaned, looking down, "I'll work on it." Renée smirked fondly, shaking her head.

Athos, watching with amused eyes, asked, "Where's Aramis?"

Renée snorted but Porthos only cast him a guilty look.

"Tell me he's not that stupid!"

Renée could only grimace.

* * *

She didn't know exactly how long Aramis had been sleeping with the Cardinal's mistress but it appeared that it hadn't been long enough for him to have wised up to just how dangerous a pursuit it was. Or perhaps he _had_ and just _really_ loved the danger.

The three made their way down the Parisian streets towards Adele's apartments and laughed when they saw him hanging off of a window sill a storey up, looking slightly worse for wear.

"Good morning," Renée called, hands on her hips as they stared up at him. Aramis looked down at them and chuckled in embarrassment, taking a deep breath before letting go and plummeting towards the ground.

He landed fairly gracefully and gladly took the hand Porthos offered to pull himself to his feet. Renée dusted him down, slapping his cheek gently in admonishment, to which he only grabbed her hands and smiled placatingly at her. "You look like you've had fun."

Aramis smirked. "If only you knew."

"Children," Athos chided, picking Aramis' weapons and hat up and handing them to him.

Renée frowned teasingly at him. "Come on. Treville wants to see us," she directed this to Aramis, who complacently fell into step beside them.

The journey consisted mainly of the three of them berating Aramis for his choice in mistress and, as they turned the corner towards the Garrison, Aramis finally let out a, "Why not Adele?"

Renée pulled a face but it was Porthos who answered. "Oh, I don't know, let's think," he mocked. "Because she's the mistress of the most powerful man in France?"

"That _would_ do it," Renée put in helpfully, pointing at Aramis.

"Gentlemen," Aramis announced, "And _lady_ ," at this last part he smiled charmingly at Renée, "I love her."

The bluntness of the statement almost made Renée stop in disbelief. As it was, she briefly closed her eyes and let out a sharp exhale. He _always_ did this.

"You love _her_?" Athos was just as sceptical. "Or you love stealing what belongs to the Cardinal?"

"Plus, I thought you loved Irene," Renée held out her hands. "And look how quickly _that_ ended."

"Ah, Irene," Aramis sighed, almost wistfully, causing Renée to look pointedly at him. He caught her look and his eyes widened. "No! It's different with Adele."

The other three exchanged a look. "Of course it is," Renée smiled. "It _always_ is." She added the last part in a mutter and Porthos, now seated on a bench, snorted.

"You four!" they heard and looked up to see their illustrious Captain standing on the balcony above them. "My office. Now."

"He looks happy," Aramis commented sarcastically as they made towards the stairs.

"That's his natural expression," Renée waved it away but knew that that was the exact same face he had greeted her with that morning. And he _certainly_ hadn't been happy then.

"I've had complaints," Treville began as they walked in, leaning over his desk and signing some documents. He passed one to Renée without looking, and she frowned as she realised it was a letter from her brother, folding it away into a pocket to read later. "An allegation you've been duelling with the Cardinal's Red Guards. Is it true?"

The four of them stood in a line behind Treville, Renée between Athos and Aramis. It was Athos who answered. "Let me think…no, because that would be illegal."

Treville straightened up and turned around to look at them. Or at Porthos, more specifically. "I can't protect you from the Cardinal if you keep fighting his men." Then he turned to Renée. "Especially you."

She scoffed. "I can protect myself."

Treville frowned but knew better than to push the issue with her. It was true that she had a lot of sway within the court, possibly more so than himself, so she did have a point. Sadly, the Cardinal did not like to keep all of his ventures _within_ the legalities of said court. The Captain walked to his chair, moving on to the next issue at hand. "Captain Cornet and his troop are missing. I need you to find out where they are."

"I thought you had sent him to Chartres," Athos stated.

"I did," Treville clarified.

"But he should have been back yesterday," Renée muttered as the memory returned to her. "There hasn't been any word?"

Treville shook his head, sitting down in the chair.

"What was he doin' there?" Porthos asked and Treville exchanged a look with Renée, whose stance suddenly turned fidgety.

"He was carrying a number of confidential items to an important meeting at the monastery," Treville was clearly choosing his words carefully and it was only Renée who had the slightest idea what he was talking about. "He was engaged in the King's work, that's all I can say."

The others looked to her and she sighed, shrugging defensively. "Sorry."

"You three, get yourselves to Chartres and find out what happened."

That was an order and the Musketeers filed out, patting Renée on the back gently as they did. She sent them each a wan smile, hands clasped tightly as she watched them go. When the door swung shut she looked nervously back at Treville. "What do you think happened to them?"

He sighed. "I dread to think."

Her eyes squeezed shut. "I don't like keeping secrets like this."

"You have to. For the good of France."

* * *

Renée decided to accompany the Captain to the Palace, if only because her cousin liked to demand her presence whenever he could. In truth, she had always enjoyed Louis' company simply because they had grown up together and had had to like each other so as to not go mad. Yes, he could be extremely childish and brattish, but that was the only Louis she knew, and she did so love him… even if he was an arrogant twit half the time.

Currently, the court found themselves shooting. Well, the Queen and her ladies were under a canopy _watching_ the shooting. Countless times had Renée been offered and sometimes pointedly told to sit with the Queen but she had spent her childhood around Treville, her father, and the Musketeers and, as a result, the men's sport was far more entertaining to her than the airs and graces of the female company. That wasn't to say that she did not as equally love the Queen; it rather that sitting around for hours on end bored her to tears. She _would_ sometimes sit with the women, if only to keep Anne company because she knew how lonely the Spanish Queen sometimes found herself. Today, however, Renée found herself watching her cousin's shooting whilst standing beside Treville in the midst of his Musketeer guards. The Cardinal was pacing nearby which only put Renée on edge: he reminded her of some predatory animal when he did that.

Her attire when at court always seemed to shock some people because it was not what many would consider 'proper'. Instead of all the frivolity and…body of some of the dresses at court, she tended to wear a version of her 'Musketeer' garb. Always in some shade of blue and with a leather jacket of sorts, she tended to wear elaborate blouses and long skirts with boots. Next to the other women of the court she looked…well, the Cardinal liked to say 'common', but Louis allowed it because she was a favourite. She didn't dare bring her rapier with her; that may be pushing it _too_ far. There _was_ always a dagger or two secreted in her belt though. But that was how she _had_ to dress: she was only fulfilling the duties her brother had chosen to neglect and that her father had wished her to do.

"There's something about shooting that makes a man feel fully alive," Louis proclaimed, turning to them with a flourish as he held his gun to his loader.

"Unlike the birds, I suppose," the Queen remarked drily from underneath her canopy. It was impossible to miss the boredom in her eyes and Renée did nothing if not admire her for the way she dealt with the stuffy nature of French court. She threw the woman a sympathetic smile.

"They're born to be shot," Louis asserted. "Like rabbits. And poets."

He smirked at his cousin at that but she only gave him an exasperated look. "Louis," she admonished.

"What?" he retorted childishly, and turned away, holding up his gun to fire again and sharply commanded the men to startle the birds.

Renée noticed the Queen's wince at the gunshot and grimaced. Louis truly could be oblivious at times. She sarcastically waved at the Cardinal as she wandered towards the Queen, smiling gratefully at the ladies for the seat she was quickly presented with. "How are you, Your Grace?"

"I am well, thank you," the Queen smiled but faltered at the knowing look Renée gave her. "I do so wish he wouldn't drag me out here." She had leaned in close to Renée to say this, mindful of the ladies surrounding her.

"I do apologise for my cousin," Renée whispered, squeezing Anne's hand.

"Good shot, your Majesty," the Cardinal remarked smoothly.

Louis grinned and turned to the Captain. "Good enough for the Musketeers, Treville?"

"My men are professional soldiers, Your Majesty," Treville started and Louis pulled a childish face, rolling his eyes.

"You should try flattery sometimes," he remarked. "It plays very well around here."

"And don't we know it?" Renée muttered to the Queen with a pointed look at the Cardinal. Anne smothered a laugh.

"I have always told Your Majesty the truth," Treville seemed unaffected by the comment, "and always will."

Louis smirked. "That's why I like you Treville. Just like my sweet cousin," he threw Renée a teasing look and she grinned sarcastically back, squeezing the Queen's hand before she made her way back towards the men, "you do not pay me empty compliments like the rest of these people."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to inflate your ego any further, Your Majesty," Renée jested, standing beside Treville with her arms behind her back. "Plus, you _are_ the man that told me repeatedly that I looked like a potato when we were younger, so forgive me for being less than complimentary all the time."

Louis pouted. "Well, I wasn't wrong. You _were_ a hideous child." He said it so matter-of-factly that Renée just had to nod.

"Thank you," she said sarcastically.

"Don't worry, you look better _now_! _Regardless,"_ the pointed look he cast at his cousin was admonishment for her interrupting his train of thought, "it amuses me to have honest people at court," Louis concluded. The Cardinal was pacing again, with a countenance suggesting he was just bursting to say something. Louis noticed as such and called quite forcefully, "What can I do for you, Cardinal?" before turning back to his shooting.

"Reports are arriving with disturbing frequency, Your Majesty," the Cardinal started, and the snake-like quality of his voice never failed to make Renée squirm. Louis' gun came down and he began to swivel towards the man. "Musketeers on the rampage, robbing and murdering." Treville's face was like stone and he had to discreetly place a hand on Renée's arm to stop her from doing anything, not knowing that her eyes had narrowed and jaw clenched.

"There has been some mistake," he calmly retorted, eyes hard. "These villains are _not_ Musketeers."

"I for one don't believe a word of it," the crystalline voice of the Queen remarked. The Cardinal turned to look at her and she continued, "I never knew such a loyal and law-abiding body of men."

The Cardinal was adamant though, "But I _strongly_ advise an inquiry."

Louis wasn't impressed. "Is that really necessary?"

"I know you love Captain Treville, but a great king…must be seen to be fair. He cannot have favourites." That last part especially seemed to be directed towards Renée and she looked at the King with outrage.

"A great king also recognises the loyalty of his people. The Musketeers would _never_ do such a thing," she implored her cousin to listen to her. He registered her comment and nodded.

"Well Cardinal, you say a King cannot have favourites. That is, unless it's _you_?" Louis raised an eyebrow and the Cardinal's face quickly hardened.

The Cardinal instead turned to Treville. "There have been no recent desertions, no absences?" Treville turned to face him, head on. "Not one Musketeer unaccounted for?"

Renée's eyes narrowed from where she stood behind Treville. The Cardinal knew about Cornet, he must. But how? She shook her head in disbelief. _What had he done?_

Treville's answer was a measured, "None" and this was clearly enough to satisfy Louis who returned to his sport with a, "There you are then, Cardinal."

His gun was once more in the shooting position when the Cardinal butted in, "It's Your Majesty's reputation that concerns me." He strode towards the King, whose shoulders had slumped as soon as he had started talking again. "These men wear the King's uniform."

"Very well!" Louis sighed in defeat. "We will _have_ an inquiry. You will give it your full co-operation, Treville, Renée."

The two bowed their heads to the King in acquiescence. As they turned to leave, they shot the Cardinal a more than venomous look.

"That slimy bugger," Renée hissed when they were out of earshot. Treville could only nod in agreement.

* * *

It was quiet back at the Garrison without the other three. Renée sat behind Treville's desk, head resting in one hand with the elbow resting on the table and the other hand fiddling with a bottle of alcohol. Her godfather removed his cloak and jacket and let out a breath, looking at her.

"You ready to tell me what caused last night's relapse yet?" he asked softly.

Renée sighed in exasperation. Her eyes traced the cracks on the table and she gently turned the bottle in her grasp. "Not really."

He pulled up a chair to the opposite side of the desk and gently took the bottle out of her grasp, placing in on the floor. The hand that had been fiddling with it now reached below her blouse to fiddle with a necklace hidden just below her collarbone.

Treville studied her for a moment but she dared not meet his gaze. She was too afraid that he'd know if she so much as glanced at him. _He'd_ dealt with it before so he was the only one fully equipped to know what was troubling her. But she had said she'd moved on.

And she _had_ …at least, she _thought_ she had.

Eventually, he gave up and his gaze dropped. "What does your brother want?"

"Oh. He's having another child," Renée pulled a face. "He thinks it'll be a boy this time."

"Not as though he said that the last three times," the Captain grumbled and Renée laughed.

"Who knows, perhaps this time he'll be right?" she remarked.

Treville chuckled. "Perhaps."

* * *

Renée startled upright in bed. A quick glance around the room told her that it was, indeed, _her_ room and there was no slumbering Athos beside her. That was a good sign at least.

The bad thing was that she had been dreaming again. When she had the alcohol she hadn't dreamt but Treville had deprived her of that the night before and the dreams had come back full force.

 _They_ were what had caused her 'relapse'. Because they weren't just dreams; they were memories. And the feelings attached to those memories were too painful for her to bear. It had been so long since it happened but it _still_ hurt.

Her eyes dropped shut and she breathed in deeply and slowly, forcing herself to calm down. _It's in the past,_ _Renée. There's_ nothing _to be done about it now. As far as you know, he's dead._

She shook her head, berating herself for such helplessness, and climbed out of bed. A cursory look out of the window told her that she had awakened far later in the day than she should have and she cursed, rushing to pull on her clothes and sort out her hair. She peeked into Treville's office but it appeared he had already left for the day. The others should have been back by now, though, so she hastened out to meet them.

Renée emerged onto the balcony and was met with the sound of swords clanging. Now this was not an unusual sound so she thought nothing of it. Until she looked over the balcony and saw who it was doing the fighting.

Athos was duelling with a boy she had never seen before. And said boy seemed _very_ determined to hurt her friend.

Renée silently crept down the stairs, hand on the hilt of her rapier as she assessed the scene in front of her.

"Care to explain?" she muttered to the watching Aramis and Porthos, eyes not moving from the fighting men.

"He came in here yelling," Porthos started.

"Said that Athos killed his father," Aramis put in.

Renée frowned. " _What_?"

She didn't receive an answer, however, as Athos had thrown his opponent into a wooden pillar and embedded his dagger in the wood by the boy's head, his sword at the boy's throat.

"That's enough!" he yelled, letting go of the dagger. He inched closer to the boy – D'Artagnan – until he was right in his face. "That could have been your throat. Don't make me kill you over a mistake."

Then he turned and strode away. "I didn't kill your father and I don't want to kill you."

It seemed that D'Artagnan was not done, however. He picked up Athos' dagger and threw it, aiming for the head.

"Athos!" Porthos yelled. Athos lurched out of the way.

The dagger flew through the air and it came within a hair's width of Athos…

…but it embedded itself into the wooden pillar next to Renée's head. She looked at it and turned to the boy with raised eyebrows. "That could have had my eye out."

He didn't seem to hear her. Instead, he picked up his rapier, wiped it clean and announced smugly, "And that could have been your back. Now fight me or die on your knees! I don't care which."

Athos looked at him reservedly. He didn't want to fight him.

"No?" D'Artagnan hissed. Then, with a warning yell, he sprang forwards.

Renée's rapier met his with a clang and expertly pushed it to the ground. Aramis, who was standing beside her, calmly asserted, "He said, enough."

D'Artagnan looked at the three of them with venom in his eyes. "Very well" he panted. "I do not wish to fight a woman, but I will." Renée rolled her eyes but inwardly laughed at the poor boy: he had _no idea_ what he was getting himself into. "I'll fight the three of you." Then he lunged again, first at Aramis, who deflected him easily, then Renée who repeated the gesture. He finally turned to Athos who forced his rapier onto the table, where Aramis and Renée slammed theirs on top.

Then Porthos joined the fray.

D'Artagnan looked at the four swords on top of his and exhaled, blowing upwards into his fringe.

"Four of us," Porthos stated. "Now, for God's sake, put up your sword." D'Artagnan glared up at him but Porthos only nodded encouragingly.

"You'll have to kill me for it," he declared, suddenly pulling up his sword with enough strength to send the other four staggering backwards.

His systematic attack on the four of them was courageous, to say the least. Porthos yelled that he was a 'lively little bugger' and Renée had to say she agreed. He met every thrust and parry of her sword with skill, and she was certainly impressed.

Sadly, the sheer number of his opponents meant he was forced back onto the stairs, their swords all at his throat. He glared up at them, chest heaving.

"Stop fighting!" A female voice shouted. "All of you!"

They barely looked round to see a young woman storming towards them, whom Renée recognised as Madame Bonacieaux.

"Is four against one fair?"

Athos elegantly flicked his sword up and out of the way, turning towards the Madame. "We weren't going to kill him," he commented flippantly.

Renée blinked. Aramis and Porthos looked at her but she could only gesture helplessly.

Porthos' sword dropped and he spun to face his friend. "Weren't we?"

Renée too removed her sword from the boy's throat and sheathed it. "Apparently so. Although, for the record, that was not at _all_ clear."

"Next time, let us know," Aramis demanded jovially, sheathing his own sword now as well.

"Madame Bonacieaux, what are you doing here?" Athos asked tiredly.

She was still striding towards them, anger clear in her features if not her voice. "I followed him because I knew he was going to do something _stupid_."

D'Artagnan jumped off of the stairs and hissed, "I don't need a woman to protect me."

"Ah, _she_ protects _us_ just fine," Porthos lamented, pointing at Renée who just shrugged.

"You boys would be fine without me," she waved him off but pushed the brim of his hat down affectionately.

"Don't say another word," Constance commanded D'Artagnan, clearly very unimpressed by his attitude. "If only men would _think_ instead of fight, there might be more _good_ ones left."

 _Now, she has a point there,_ Renée inwardly conceded, as a sudden image of two men from many years ago duelling right in front of her, ignoring her terrified screams, entered her mind. She shook her head sharply.

Aramis, now perched on the table with one leg on the stool, commented, "Him, I'm not sure about. Her, I like."

The others didn't get a chance to reply, however, as Treville marched in, flanked by more men.

"What's going on?" No one answered. "Never mind. Did you find Cornet?"

"He never made it to the monastery," Athos replied, and Renée felt her stomach drop. Dear God, it was worse than she thought.

And it was about to get _even_ worse.

"Give us twenty men and we'll search the road to Chartres."

Treville wasn't listening though. Instead, he was gesturing to the men behind him to come forward and Renée realised that they weren't Musketeers as she had thought upon cursory glance but Red Guards.

"Athos, I'm sorry," Treville did sound truly apologetic as he watched the men come towards Athos. "These men have come to arrest you."

Aramis and Porthos immediately sprung into defensive positions and Renée's hand wandered once more to the hilt of her rapier. They all three moved as one to flank Athos.

"You're to appear before the King immediately, charged with robbery and murder."

"What?" Renée breathed incredulously.

"I promised them there'd be no trouble," Treville said sadly, his eyes definitely lingering on Renée. Aramis and Porthos sheathed their swords but there was still anger in their eyes.

Athos looked down at her and shook his head slowly. She sighed but reluctantly followed the other two. He handed over his rapier and turned to look back at D'Artagnan.

"I'm not the man you're looking for," he stated confidently, before allowing himself to be taken away. Renée began to walk with them, murmuring, "I'll be having some strong words with the King about this." Treville nodded, knowing she was in the best position to do so, and allowed her to stride beside him.

"Why did my father name you before he died?" D'Artagnan demanded, striding towards him.

"I don't know."


	2. friends and enemies pt 2

The Cardinal advanced towards the restrained Athos, finger outstretched, proclaiming, "This man stands accused of highway robbery," Athos didn't even blink at him, so he turned back towards the royal couple seated on a dais at the head of the courtroom, "assault, and murder."

Renée stood just in front of the King and Queen, Treville beside her, as they listened to the Cardinal's claims in outrage. The Cardinal came and pointed at them, his voice taking on a disappointed tone, "While Captain Treville and the Lady Renée look the other way, their men riot in the streets."

"This is absurd," Renée expostulated, turning towards the King.

Treville was in agreement. "The charges are false, Your Majesty."

"There are witnesses," The Cardinal calmly retorted, and Renée's jaw clenched.

"Well these 'witnesses' must be mistaken!"

The Cardinal gave her a patronising smile and gestured towards a man at the side of the court. "You!"

The balding man stepped forward, hat clasped in his hands and the Cardinal directed him to tell the King what had happened.

Renée watched the man with narrowed eyes as he stated, quite confidently, "I own an inn. The Musketeer named Athos, and his men, robbed me and murdered two of my guests, Michel Fournier, and a Gascon named Alexandre D'Artagnan."

Athos's face took on an expression of bewilderment. "I have _never_ seen this man before in my life!"

The Cardinal's only response was to call forward yet another 'witness', this time a nervous looking boy with a sallow complexion.

He bowed before the royals, eyes darting across the room, and his voice was equally as nervous. "I was driving my master and mistress home. We were attacked by a bandit. He said his name was Athos. He shot them both."

"Yes, because criminals often tell the truth regarding their names," Renée put in sarcastically and Treville had to shoot her a warning look.

The Cardinal's answer to that, though, was clear. He pointed at Athos and asked the boy quietly, "Is this your assailant?"

Renée held her breath. Surely, he had to say no? It couldn't have been Athos.

It _couldn't._

The boy pulled a face, clearly indecisive. But he turned back and replied, "Yes, I believe so. He wore the same uniform."

 _What._ Renée's eye twitched.

Treville, now just as worked up as Renée, scornfully declared, "Oh, this is a mockery of justice!"

"There is not a word of truth in this!" Athos yelled. "These men are mistaken!"

"What can a uniform prove?" Renée added just as harshly. "One could _easily_ steal that!"

They were all ignored, as the Cardinal strode towards the King, professing, "Musketeers are not above the law." Then his voice quietened. "Remember, Sire. The King's judgement is infallible."

That was a snide comment to remind them all that Louis' decision was final and yet another way of buttering him up to rule in the Cardinal's favour. Renée could feel her stomach turning, knowing in her gut that this wasn't going to end well. The Cardinal was just _too good_.

"Quite right," Louis inclined his head, eyes still on Athos. He then announced to the whole court, "An example must be set."

"No," Renée whispered, eyes widening, hand subconsciously finding Treville's wrist and grabbing it tight.

Louis carried on, oblivious to her torment. "Take this _Athos_ to the Chatelet. He will be executed at dawn."

Renée gasped silently, helpless eyes begging Treville to do something, _anything._ She felt as though she'd been punched in the chest, a heavy weight rendering her speechless, crushing her heart.

No.

Athos couldn't _die._

Louis had stood and the whole court bowed. Renée was frozen so Treville had to jerk her body down. His grip caused her to jolt back to herself, casting him a wild look. How could Louis do this?

The King strode out of the room and Treville cast Renée a meaningful look. She nodded and the two quickly chased after him.

She _had_ to get him to change his mind.

"Sire!" Renée called.

He stopped and turned to them with a sigh. "The matter is closed, cousin," Louis' voice was final but she simply wouldn't have this.

"Please! Athos is a good man; he is not capable of what he is accused!" Her voice was desperate and Louis had no choice but to take sympathy in her panicked state; her eyes were wild, almost terrified, and she was taking juddering breaths.

"Your personal bias is clouding your judgement," he said quietly, almost kindly. "I am sorry."

"Louis!"

" _Careful_ ," he pointed a finger at her. "You sound too attached to that man. You _cannot_ afford another scandal." The warning tone caused her mouth to slam shut.

"I didn't cause a scandal last time," she reminded him, her voice sounding a little dangerous. "And this is different. I am _not_ attached to him in that way."

"Regardless. The matter is _closed._ "

Her eyes fell shut and her head bowed. "Fine."

He looked at her with saddened eyes and squeezed her shoulder. "I _am_ sorry."

Renée shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. "Not sorry enough," she muttered, pulling her shoulder out of his grasp and storming away. She passed Porthos on her way out but didn't even look at him.

Treville and Louis both watched her go, the King letting out a long-suffering sigh. "Not you too, Treville," he warned, looking pointedly at the Captain.

"No Sire," his voice was quiet. "It's about Captain Cornet."

* * *

As soon as Renée was out of the building, her fight left her and she nearly keeled over, having to stagger over to a wall to support herself. She put one hand against the wall, arm stretched out, the other clutching at her stomach as she took deep shaking breaths. Her eyes were burning but she refused to cry. No, she could fix this. She _had_ to. What would they _do_ without Athos?

A pair of boots entered her field of vision.

Her eyes followed the boots upwards to see Porthos in front of her, eyes sad as he watched her.

"You alright?" he asked gently.

She let go of the wall, straightening down her skirts and sniffing. "Fine."

Porthos looked unconvinced but didn't push it. "Treville says we need to find Cornet. It's our only chance to save Athos."

Renée nodded her head slowly, her resolve growing. Yes. Now she knew what she had to do. They _would_ save Athos. "We'd better get going then."

"Where'd you wanna start?" Porthos asked.

Aramis wandered over, hands on his weapons, face grim. "I have an idea."

* * *

It turned out finding D'Artagnan was not a difficult task. Renée knew his female companion and her rather irritating husband; he had tried to sell her a number of items of clothing on occasion. Unfortunately for him, Renée was rarely in the market for new clothes and, if she was, she tended to steer away from the smarmier merchants. It was a wonder that Constance put up with that man… The three arrived outside Bonacieaux's house minutes later and stood, staring at the building.

"Sure this is the place?" Aramis tilted his head at Renée.

She nodded, "Positive," then strode towards the building, her friends at her heels.

The door swung open with a clatter, the three not bothering to be quiet as they made their way through the house. Renée soon picked up the sound of voices.

One voice in particular.

A- _ha_.

She looked smugly at Aramis and Porthos, raising an eyebrow in an 'I told you so' manner as she pointed down the hallway. Aramis rolled his eyes and gestured for her to lead the way.

"I came to kill the man that murdered him, but all I've found are more questions," a mournful voice floated down the corridor. "I can't rest until I know the truth."

"Well that's good," Renée announced, making her entry into the kitchen. "Because rest is _certainly_ out of the question for you."

Three figures jolted to look at them; the Madame, the irritating merchant, and D'Artagnan himself. The latter was having his chest bound by Constance, sitting in front of the fireplace, but jumped up when the Musketeers entered the room, drawing his sword.

Renée didn't take her eyes off of the boy, fixing him with a harsh stare. It was Porthos who moved to calm him down, saying placatingly, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. We're not here to fight."

"He's right. We already beat you," Aramis smiled charmingly, causing D'Artagnan to advance towards him menacingly. He stopped when Renée pushed him back with a hand to the chest.

"Would you recognise those Musketeers that attacked you?" she asked, getting straight down to business.

"They all wore masks," he shrugged.

Renée felt a weight settle in her stomach. She turned to see Aramis and Porthos' hopeful expressions drop.

Well, there went _that_.

.

.

"I shot one of them."

 _Hang on._

Renée 's head snapped towards the boy. D'Artagnan's face had suddenly turned determined, a steely look entering his eyes as comprehension dawned on him.

"You did what?" Renée breathed, not daring to get her hopes up just yet.

"I shot one," he repeated, his voice becoming surer. "His body might still be there at the inn."

Renée's eyes lit up, and a grin played on Aramis' features.

"Alright. Saddle up," Porthos commanded. "We're leaving."

The four moved, almost as one, towards the door, but were stopped by Constance's incredulous, "This morning you try and kill them, and now you're best friends?"

"Athos' life is at stake," Aramis answered grimly. D'Artagnan brushed past him towards the door, weapons belt slung over his shoulder. "He's to be executed in the morning for crimes he didn't commit."

"And we'll be damned if we allow that to happen," Renée finished, casting Constance a look that told the woman it was best not to argue. She saw the fervid expression on the faces of these Musketeers and knew there was little they wouldn't do to save their friend. Renée followed D'Artagnan out of the door, leaving Aramis to bid their farewells.

He doffed his hat and smiled, almost patronisingly. "Forgive the intrusion, Monsieur."

* * *

Renée could almost feel the clock counting down to Athos' demise. Every thrum of her heartbeat was another moment closer. Another second lost.

Time

time

time…

It was running out.

Renée blinked.

The man lying in a shallow grave in the snow in front of her was practically blue: long since dead. He wore the unmistakeable Musketeer garb yet she had never seen him before.

"He's no Musketeer," Porthos declared scornfully, with Aramis humming in agreement.

"Look at his clothes," D'Artagnan pointed out, "there are two bullet holes."

Three heads swivelled in his direction.

"So?" Aramis prompted.

Comprehension dawned on Renée a little quicker. "You only shot him once, didn't you?"

D'Artagnan nodded.

Porthos dropped down into the grave, yanking the man's jacket open, revealing a bloody gunshot wound on the man's side. "This is the shot that killed him. And this hole," he pointed to the second hole by the man's collarbone, pulling back the clothing to reveal unblemished skin, "Doesn't match any wound." He looked up, confusion marring his features.

"It means he wasn't wearing the uniform when it was fired," Aramis concluded grimly.

"But the man that _was_ likely died too," Renée added quietly. It must have been a member of Cornet's troop, if not the man himself. She closed her eyes briefly in grief. How could this have _happened_?

"Cornet?" Porthos looked at them, clambering out of the grave.

Aramis nodded.

* * *

"You chose well," the serpent-like voice of the Cardinal remarked as he heard the swishing fabric of his female agent's dress signalling her arrival. "Athos is held in the highest regard by his fellow Musketeers. His disgrace and execution will strike a _deadly_ blow to their morale."

He swivelled to look at her, in her elegant crimson gown with a hood draped over her hair, still partway in the shadows.

"The Lady Renée was almost beyond herself in the courtroom. Perhaps the King will have little option but to remove her from her post, especially if she descends into hysterics," he continued gleefully, oblivious to the pained look that suddenly flitted across her eyes.

Then he halted and frowned. "But why _him_?"

She stepped forward into the light, removing her hood. "I have my reasons."

* * *

The part of the road to Chartres the four found themselves on was covered by a thick canopy of trees.

Porthos, leading the four with Renée just behind him, called, "If I was planning an ambush, I'd do it here." Renée surveyed her surroundings and hummed. It was fairly secluded; perfect for an ambush, "Plenty of cover, good sightlines. Cornet wouldn't have suspected a thing."

And he hadn't.

"Let's have a look here then," Renée instructed and the four found an appropriate place before dismounting.

It wasn't long before they came across what had remained of Captain Cornet and his men. The trek through the snow was silent and tense, but the sight of the dead bodies spurred them all into action. Birds were already hopping over the bodies which lay splayed in the snow, crimson blood seeping into the surrounding whiteness. The stark contrast was enough to make a person sick.

They walked mournfully towards the dead, crows carking irritably at them.

Renée's eyes zeroed in on the man they had been searching for. "Oh, Cornet," she breathed, dropping to her knees in front of his body.

Aramis removed his hat and Porthos' head bowed but there was anger clearly simmering in his veins. These had been their friends and they had been _slaughtered._

Renée took a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. She pulled herself to her feet, turning to the men with her eyes blazing. "We _have_ to find who did this," she hissed.

Porthos' anger only increased as they trudged back to the horses. He finally boiled over as they clambered down the short incline by the horses, letting out a seething, "They shot them like _animals_ and then stripped them of their uniforms!" His voice had been getting slowly louder with each word until he was practically yelling in their faces.

Renée tried to calm herself. The callous death of her friends only fuelled the fire in her belly, but she could not let this cloud her judgement. They _had_ to bring these people to justice but they couldn't do that by going in half-cocked. The anger she felt _had_ to be channelled towards those responsible; of that, she was determined. No use losing herself to a red mist.

She nodded at Porthos. "We'll make them pay, Porthos," Renée reassured him, grabbing his shoulder and looking fiercely at him.

"I know," Porthos returned, nodding equally as severely.

Renée looked over to Aramis who seemed to be coaxing D'Artagnan into helping them further. She missed Porthos looking at the mulchy ground beneath them and seeing a glinting in amongst the dead leaves. He leant down and picked up the piece of gold. Renée only looked back when she heard a huffed chuckle.

"What?" she frowned, seeing Porthos grinning at something in his gloved hands. He held up the gold to her, turning to include Aramis and D'Artagnan in his discovery.

"Was Cornet carrying Spanish gold?"

"Possibly," Renée muttered, eyeing the gold as she could not bear to meet Porthos' gaze. She knew, for a fact, that he _had_ been carrying the Spanish gold and for a specific reason.

"You can go a year in Paris without seeing a new Spanish doubloon," Porthos remarked, turning it over in his grip, the other hand digging into his coin purse and pulling out an identical piece, "and that makes two in a week."

"Where did you get that?" D'Artagnan asked.

A dark-haired moustachioed man popped into Renée's head. "Dujon," she murmured incredulously, looking at Porthos for confirmation.

He returned her gaze and nodded, before moving back towards his horse. Aramis and D'Artagnan, however, both looked confused.

Renée sighed and elaborated, "He won it in a card game with a Red Guard."

* * *

Louis was in ruins. He stared mournfully at his First Minister, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, having confessed that the letters containing information about France's foreign policy and desire for a peace treaty had gone missing on their way to the King of Spain.

The Cardinal was obviously disappointed in him, sweeping around the library as he lectured the King on how damaging it was for the King to allow one policy to be pursued in public whilst sneaking around behind everyone's back and doing the opposite.

There was a certain irony in this, but Louis could not have known that. He was oblivious to the deceit of his First Minister, only knowing the one thing the Cardinal wanted him to: that the only person he needed was the Cardinal himself. Treville had gotten him into this mess, Renée had not prevented it, and the Queen was too opinionated (and full of the _wrong_ opinions in his eyes) so all he had left, just as the Cardinal had planned, was Armand.

The Cardinal continued his manipulations, stating sadly, "It is clear," he fiddled with some papers on the King's desk, "I must withdraw from public life immediately." He then turned and strode away, eyes narrowing in glee as the King's desperate call followed him.

"I will give you whatever you want, Armand. Just get me out of this mess," he begged, practically sobbing through his next words, "I should never have done anything without your counsel!"

That was all the Cardinal had wanted to hear. A fleeting smug grin appeared on his face but disappeared just as quickly as he turned to the King, the image of the self-sacrificing First Minister ready to go.

He started taking meaningfully slow steps back towards the helpless figure of the King, his voice taking on a tone Louis did not recognise as patronising as he asked, "How were these letters conveyed?"

"Treville arranged it," Louis admitted. "With the Lady Renée's help. And then their Musketeers made a mess of everything."

The Cardinal stopped halfway down the gallery and leaned on the back of a chair, face in fake contemplation.

"Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it," Louis pleaded. He knew his next words would hurt his cousin but she, in his eyes, had failed him. Renée hadn't prevented the mistake with Cornet's men, yet she claimed to be an integral part of the Musketeers.

He loved her but she had failed him and failing the King would never end well. Louis was, sadly, at this point in his life inherently concerned primarily with the image of the Crown. And the Crown had been embarrassed.

"I'll disband the entire regiment if that's what it takes to make you happy." He didn't want to, but he was prepared to.

The Cardinal waved a hand coolly. "Well. In due course, possibly."

Inwardly he celebrated. Oh, the destruction of the Musketeers had begun.

* * *

Retrieving Dujon was not a difficult task in the slightest. Porthos emerged only a short time later from the tavern he and Renée had spent the morning in with a man slumped over his shoulder, head hanging at a funny angle signalling his unconsciousness.

Porthos grinned at the other three, pointed his hand at Dujon and huffed, "Well that was easy."

Renée snorted, rolling her eyes affectionately. "Come on. Let's get him somewhere safe."

Dujon regained consciousness not long after and, when the sack was removed from his head, he was met with the sight of two very stern looking men and a woman standing between them, arms crossed over her chest, as they all stared harshly down at him.

"Huh?" he moaned, frowning at the sudden onslaught of pain in his head.

"Time to pay for the reckoning of Cornet," Aramis told the man grimly.

"And I bet he's gonna say 'I have no idea what you're talking about,'" Porthos muttered in disgust. Dujon quirked his eyebrows in what seemed like agreement.

Renée pulled a disappointed face. "And then we'll have to hurt him."

Dujon's face fell and his eyes widened.

"At which point, he'll suddenly remember he killed him," Porthos hummed.

The Red Guard shook his head viciously, muttering incoherently.

The three exchanged looks.

"Why wait?" Porthos shrugged.

"That is a very _good_ question my friend," Renée mused, eyes on Dujon as if trying to weigh up the pros and cons of hurting him.

"Let's just hurt him now."

All three looked at their captive, Aramis with a slightly creepy grin on his face before he crouched before the man and said, coaxingly, "It could go like that. Or we can just skip to the confession part."

"I suppose it would save us time," Renée pointed out.

"And you pain," Aramis added to Dujon. Then he leant in closer to the man, right in his face, eyes boring into his and whispered, almost conspiratorially, "A _lot_ of pain."

Dujon seemed desperate now. "I was just following orders."

"He was just following orders," Porthos repeated to Renée and Aramis as he straightened up.

"Oh, that makes it all alright," Renée announced sarcastically. "We best just _let him go._ "

Porthos rubbed his ear, clearly agitated. He shot forward and grabbed Dujon by the collars of his jacket, hauling him roughly to his feet.

"I…I can't tell you!" Dujon stammered, "They'll kill me!"

Aramis extricated him from Porthos' grip and gently pushed him away. "No need for that," he said chidingly. "We're not brutes…"

Dujon sighed in relief.

"…We'll just shoot him."

Porthos grinned.

"What?" Dujon squawked, watching as Aramis pulled away to load his gun. "No, listen, you can't, please…"

"I think you'll find that we can," Renée snorted, pulling a face as if to say 'this guy'. Porthos chuckled, pushing Dujon up against a wooden pillar and tying him against it.

"You know," Aramis mused, returning with a gun and shot in hand, "People say I'm quite good with these."

"Good!" Porthos smirked by Dujon's ear as he finished securing him to the pillar. "He's the best. He's so modest."

"The musket isn't the most reliable weapon though," Renée frowned.

Aramis pointed at her in agreement before swivelling back to Dujon. "That is true. From 100 yards, I'll probably miss as often as I hit." He lit the fuse. "From 50, well, I rarely miss." Then he dropped the powder into the barrel. "From ten," he sighed, "well, it's just a matter of which vital organ do I choose to hit first?" This he punctuated by shoving the ramrod harshly into the barrel of the gun, now glaring at Dujon. The flippancy with which he had been speaking was gone.

"No, no, no," Dujon begged, "please, listen, listen…"

Porthos jerked his head at the Red Guard, looking at Renée and Aramis. "Heart?"

Aramis shook his head, "Too swift."

Renée hummed. "Liver?" she supplied, coming to stand next to Aramis.

"Ooh. That could work."

Dujon squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head as it slowly dropped. Porthos chuckled darkly.

Aramis had finished preparing the gun, which Renée took as a signal to move back to where the reluctant looking D'Artagnan was standing.

"Or a stomach shot," Aramis hissed, almost manically, as he raised the gun to fiddle with the catch. "Death _is_ inevitable, but you'll bleed out for hours first."

"You can't," Dujon insisted. "This is murder."

"Oh, and what you did to Captain Cornet wasn't?" Renée raised her eyebrows at him pointedly. "Dujon, come now," she tsked, shaking her head in faux disappointment.

"We won't tell if you won't," Porthos offered.

Aramis raised the gun to his shoulder, taking aim. His target starting struggling against his bonds, wild eyes focussed on the gun right in front of him. Renée cast a glance at the nervous looking D'Artagnan beside her: he looked as though he was about to intervene. She grabbed his arm harshly, causing his head to turn from the scene in front of them to her, eyes questioning. Renée shook her head and mouthed, "Don't."

He frowned but said nothing.

Aramis blew on the fuse and looked down the barrel. Dujon whimpered and closed his eyes.

Aramis pulled the trigger.

"Bang," Porthos whispered loudly in Dujon's ear, chuckling as he backed away.

Dujon sighed, eyes snapping open. "Oh-oh!" He sagged against the post, taking deep shaking breaths.

Aramis pulled the gun down, as if in realisation. "Oh!" He reached into his pocket and brought out the ball. "I forgot the ball!" He smiled, throwing in gently into the air and catching it without looking. "This time," he brought it up, showing it to Dujon, then put it slowly into the barrel…

"It was Captain Gaudet!" Dujon gasped.

Renée smiled in satisfaction, looking up at D'Artagnan with raised eyebrows as if to say 'you shouldn't have doubted us'. He blew out an aggravated breath, but conceded quietly.

"Of the Red Guards?" Porthos asked.

"He told us to do it," Dujon snapped. "He said he wanted a few men for a special mission. Something unofficial. An ambush to steal the King's letters." Renée and D'Artagnan inched closer towards the man.

"That is treason, you know?" Renée pointed out quietly.

Dujon's wild dark eyes looked at her. "Gaudet went mad. He killed them all." His eyes darted around, looking at each one of them in turn. "None of us knew it would be murder," he insisted.

Porthos pulled out a piece of Spanish gold and held it in front of the Red Guard's face. "You stole this from Cornet?"

He nodded. "His saddlebags were full of Spanish gold." Porthos inclined his head, satisfied, before stepping out of the way which allowed D'Artagnan to advance towards the man. "Gaudet said we could share it between us. I just…"

He was cut off by D'Artagnan violently grabbing his face and throat. "Who murdered my father?" he demanded. Then his voice rose. "WHO?"

"Gaudet. It was Gaudet," Dujon choked.

Porthos and Renée forcefully pulled D'Artagnan off of the man, but he went unwillingly, furious eyes still glaring at the Red Guard.

"He did it to blacken Athos' name," Dujon continued. "I'm not like him," he whined, almost sobbing, "I'm not a killer. I'm a solder, like you."

This time it was Porthos that grabbed his throat, pushing him upwards and frowning at him.

"Where is Gaudet now?" Renée asked, standing just behind Porthos.

"He's camped in the old ruins, outside the city gates," Dujon wheezed.

Renée grinned and signalled for Porthos to let him go. "Much obliged."

* * *

The four with Dujon in tow crawled quietly on their stomachs up the incline just outside Gaudet's camp, settling just behind a ridge to survey the camp. Renée, next to Aramis, watched as he looked down his spyglass.

"Gaudet keeps his camp well-guarded, Dujon informed them quietly. "You'll never surprise him." He was quietened by a harsh thwack from Porthos and a hissed, "Shut up!"

Renée saw Aramis' face drop and whispered, "What do you see?"

"The bridge is the only way in and out," he muttered. "There's too many of them for a frontal assault."

"Aramis, you and I could take a couple out from here," Renée offered but Porthos shook his head.

"By the time you've reloaded, the rest will be long gone."

Renée grimaced. "You're right."

"Now, if we're going to capture Gaudet alive and get back those uniforms," Porthos frowned, "it'll have to be by stealth."

"We need a distraction then." Renée rubbed her forehead as she thought. "But what?"

D'Artagnan slid backwards off the ridge and announced, "I know something that might work." Then he looked back at Renée, eyes widening slightly. "But I don't think you're going to like it."

She sighed. "What is it?"

* * *

"Bloody idiot," Renée huffed as she and Constance practically staggered down the icy path towards the camp, clad in what could only be described as the clothing of prostitutes. _This_ was D'Artagnan's _brilliant_ idea. For them to be prostitutes.

"I'm going to wring that scrawny neck of his," she ground out, nearly slipping on the ice. Constance grabbed her arm to keep her steady, to which she shot her a grateful look.

"You're not the only one," Constance muttered, pulling up her strap as it had slid down her arm as they continued advancing, clearly incredibly uncomfortable, down the path.

Two guards came into view, causing Renée to take a deep breath. "Alright. Time to be seductive." She threw Constance a nervous look, smoothing down her hair whilst Constance threw her out her chest and picked up part of her skirts.

The two guards on the bridge raised their guns at the women approaching. The one on the right called gruffly, "What do you want?"

Renée simpered. "Gentlemen, I think the better question is 'what do _you_ want?" She twirled a strand of her hair, looking expectantly at them, lips slightly pouty.

"Fifty sous," Constance looked them both over, "and we'll take you to heaven."

"You two a couple of those religious nutcases?" One of the guards wasn't convinced.

Renée blinked. " _What_? No."

"It was a metaphor," Constance ground out.

The guard that had spoken shrugged, clearly having no idea what was going on. The one on the left, however, took on a lecherous grin. "Nah, mate," he smirked. "They're not religious at all," he advanced towards Renée and she had to do her best to maintain her flirtatious smile, "They're prostitutes."

Renée was beyond uncomfortable now and couldn't trust herself to speak so she just nodded, eyes wide in agony. "Mmm hmm."

"That's right," Constance's voice was far smoother and she pushed her guard onto the bridge. "We're all yours."

Her guard looked her up and down appraisingly. "Alright. Five sous."

"Five?" Constance hissed.

"Alright, ten, but that's it."

Renée rolled her eyes and turned back to her guard, eyebrows raised. He grinned at her. "No, you're worth more than that," he whispered, suddenly leaning in very close. Renée stiffened but kept her smile. He took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling her scent. She had to resist the urge to recoil. "Twenty sous," he murmured, right in her ear, probably in what he thought was a seductive way but it only made Renée's skin crawl.

Instead, she purred, "You are too kind, monsieur," placing her hands around his neck.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Porthos quietly wrap his arms around Constance's guard's neck. She snapped back though when she felt something _very unwelcome_.

The bastard had put his hands on her behind. And squeezed.

 _Pig_.

Renée's hooded seductive gaze dropped and she removed her hands from his neck. "Alright. That's enough," she hissed, kneeing him unceremoniously in the groin.

He gasped, dropping to his knees, hands cupping his privates in agony. Porthos, who had knocked out Constance's guard, threw her her belt with her rapier and pistol. She smacked the butt of the gun across her guard's face, knocking the twit out.

Renée instantly dropped to her knees when they saw movement across the bridge of another soldier walking past. She and Porthos propped Constance's guard over her as though he was kissing her neck, using the man as a shield to hide themselves.

"Oi!" the other soldier called jovially, "My turn next!"

Porthos raised the man's arm in a waving action.

The soldier walked on.

Renée's slowly rose, head peeking over the unconscious form of the guard, to see if the coast was clear. Empty.

She nodded sharply at Porthos and they pulled the man off of Constance, Porthos taking the full brunt of the man and almost walking him across the bridge and throwing him off.

Aramis and D'Artagnan followed them over, Aramis passing Renée her jacket with a conciliatory smile as he passed her. She only glared at him but took the jacket, grateful to cover herself. When D'Artagnan reached her, she slapped him upside the head.

"Ow!" he hissed, hand immediately going to the afflicted area.

"You ever make us do that again and we'll rip out your intestines and make you eat them," she hissed.

"Fine, God!" he muttered, moving on to Constance and whispering his thanks.

Renée passed him, leaving him alone with Constance, and following the other two over the bridge. D'Artagnan joined them a short time later, finding the other three with their guns cocked as they hid in an alcove, watching the men milling around the camp. Renée had attached her belt around her waist and stood, rapier sheathed and pistol loaded. D'Artagnan stuck his head between the other three as Aramis nodded his head at a man who was striding across the camp, drinking gaily from a cup, "There he is. That's Gaudet over there."

"That weasel," Renée muttered, loathing lacing her words.

"He thinks no one can touch him," D'Artagnan muttered snidely.

"Wait for my signal," Aramis commanded. "Surprise is everything -"

\- D'Artagnan shot forward, a warning cry escaping his lips as he practically bolted across the camp.

The other three blinked.

"Or not," Renée commented dryly.

"It would have been everything," Aramis muttered as shots came their way. The three jumped into action, Renée withdrawing her rapier and shooting with her pistol in her left hand. Aramis, Porthos and Renée moved as one, keeping close to each other as they shot and sliced their way through Gaudet's camp.

D'Artagnan's war cry had told them that he was headed straight for the man himself and they couldn't let him kill him. Best to have the bastard alive. After all, who had commanded Gaudet to do what he had?

The three ducked behind a large rock to reload. Porthos ducked out to aim, Renée crouching and pulling out just in front of him to do the same. More soldiers advanced towards them and the men abandoned their guns completely, all three now using their rapiers primarily.

Renée parried a blow from one soldier, ducking from his oncoming blade and swiping at his stomach. The man fell with a grunt and she moved on, turning to face another behind her. This one she took out with a blow to the chest. She had no idea where the others were, only knowing she had to focus on the moment. A fist caught her across the face and she stumbled, blood welling as she had bitten her cheek. Renée spat out the blood, dropping her gun as she wiped her mouth, and grinning at the man in front of her.

He advanced towards her with a yell but she blocked him easily enough, feinting and catching him in the side. He hissed in agony as he fell.

Then she ran. _Have to find Gaudet. Have to find D'Artagnan._

And there they were.

Renée jolted to a stop, seeing D'Artagnan hovering over the struggling Gaudet, two rapiers crossed over each other at the man's throat. He raised a sword as if to strike the killing blow but was stopped by a yelled,

"D'Artagnan!"

He looked up to see Aramis, Porthos and Renée all advancing towards him.

"We need him alive," Renée called.

The boy's eyes were wild and he was taking shuddering breaths. Aramis shook his head.

D'Artagnan clashed the swords at Gaudet's throat and hissed, "Death in combat is too honourable for you. I'd rather see you _hang_." He withdrew the swords, throwing Gaudet's away and turning his back on the man, walking away.

Which meant he didn't see Gaudet pull out a dagger and advance towards him until he heard Renée's shriek of, "D'Artagnan!"

He swiftly turned and before they knew it his sword was through Gaudet's chest. The man dropped to his knees, groaning, before falling flat onto the ground. Dead.

Renée and Aramis walked over, both re-sheathing their swords which they had drawn when they saw Gaudet advance. They looked at the body of this man that had ruined so much and sighed.

Porthos whistled, prompting Renée and Aramis to look at him. He held something up, "The stolen uniforms. They're all here."

Renée exhaled deeply and Aramis smiled in relief. "With Dujon's confession, that's all the proof we need."

"Thank goodness for that," Renée breathed. Aramis patted her on the shoulder as he walked over to Porthos and the stolen uniforms.

She glanced at D'Artagnan and, noticing the forlorn look on his face, called, "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "I think so."

She smiled comfortingly and nodded, before pointing at the figure of Constance staring at the dead bodies. "I'd see if she's alright if I were you." She frowned, knowing how the woman likely felt, before joining the others.

It was going to be okay now. It had to be.

* * *

"Just SHOOT, damn you!"

"Hold your fire!"

The four had gotten to the Chatelet as quickly as they could, in just enough time to prevent Athos' execution. _Just_.

Aramis led the way down the stairs to where their friend was standing opposite the firing squad, calling, "If I were you, I wouldn't be in such a hurry to die." He held up the rolled scroll, "Your release, signed by the King."

The guns were removed.

Athos sagged against the wall, chest heaving.

"Get these chains off," Renée commanded.

Athos looked at all three of his friends in turn, before commenting, "I thought I'd finally shaken you three off."

Porthos chuckled, "Oh, believe me, there are easier ways."

Renée smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes. The others didn't seem to notice though so she followed them out silently.

He had been _so close_ to dying. Her chest still felt tight, as though it wasn't over yet, as though she was expecting someone to suddenly say 'Just joking! We have to kill him after all!' She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. It _was_ over. Athos was going to be _okay_.

* * *

From a concealed window above Milady de Winter's eyes narrowed as she watched the girl. Poor child. She saw the fear in her eyes, the relief when the chains were released.

Was that love?

…possibly so. She would have to watch out for that one.

* * *

The evening found the five of them in the same tavern as before, four seated around a table as they shared in the drinks.

"You come to Paris to kill Athos and end up saving his life," Aramis commented to D'Artagnan, "After a few drinks, I'm sure he'll appreciate the irony." The Gascon chuckled.

Renée pushed forward her glass to be refilled by D'Artagnan and grinned but, again, it didn't reach her eyes. She hadn't spoken to him since he'd been released. None of them had really. And now he had retreated to the corner of the room to brood, just as he always did, only this time she had decided not to join him.

D'Artagnan looked over at Athos, who was well on his way to full out drunkenness. "What's wrong with him anyway?"

Porthos didn't even look to what he was referring, answering gruffly, "Ah, woman trouble."

D'Artagnan frowned. "Woman trouble? But I thought-" He looked at Renée in confusion. Her sharp gaze returned his.

"You thought what?" she prompted, frowning.

"I thought that- well, that you and he were- you know, a _thing_ ," he bit his lip, hand nervously running through his hair. The air around the table suddenly grew tense.

"And what made you think that?" She sounded almost disbelieving but her voice was deceptively light compared to the hard look that had entered her eyes. D'Artagnan regretted voicing the thought and almost didn't continue.

Yet he did. "Well, just the way you look at him- a-and the way you were acting when you thought he was going to die."

Renée's face dropped and she swallowed, a sadness entering her eyes. "Well, you were wrong," she muttered quietly, eyes darting away from his. She stood, dusted down her skirts and murmured, "Different woman," as if to herself before walking away from the table.

Renée vaguely heard Porthos and Aramis explain that the woman in question had died and that that was all Athos had ever said. She knew more though. What the woman had done. What _Athos_ had done. He had told her once, though she doubted if he remembered. He was still cut up over it, still in love with her. And that was that.

She made a beeline to the barkeep, quietly requesting a flagon of water which she brought over to Athos' table. He didn't look up as she approached but was startled by the sudden sight of the flagon on the table, following the hand on the handle up to her face. He blinked.

"What's this?"

"You'll thank me in the morning," she smiled, noticing the hazy look in his eyes. He nodded, almost as though preoccupied.

She was about to leave but something possessed to blurt out, "Athos?" The man looked expectantly up at her. "I'm glad you're not dead."

His gaze dropped. "I'm not."

He had said things like this before to her, always in the clutches of alcohol, so she shouldn't have been taken aback. And she wasn't. It was the surety in his voice and the brokenness of it that caused her heart to shatter though.

She swallowed, not knowing what to say. In the end, she settled for a gentle squeeze of his shoulder before making her departure.

He wouldn't remember this in the morning. But she would. She _always_ did.

* * *

Renée watched herself in her looking glass as she loosened her hair in preparation for bed. Her reflection was tired, with a lingering sadness present in its eyes. She wondered if only she could see that, or if it was obvious to everyone else as well.

She reached underneath her blouse and pulled up the chain sitting underneath, revealing a small pendant in the shape of a wren, and looked at it fondly. Renée closed her eyes.

 _'A wren, because your name is Ren.'_

 _She laughed, and the sound was like bells, smiling at the reflection in the looking glass of herself and the man fastening the chain around her neck. 'That was awful!'_

 _He placed a kiss against her neck and chuckled, the sound echoing through her. 'Shut up,' he grinned._

A slow tear slid down her cheek.


End file.
